


The Fair Sun

by LipstickAndWhiskey (CopperMarigolds)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Brief Mention of Blood, F/M, Language, a dick joke, abuse (mentioned), domestic abuse, morgue scene that includes inspection of a dead body, murder (mentioned and investigated upon)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperMarigolds/pseuds/LipstickAndWhiskey
Summary: A rich man’s murder takes you on a case that ends up being far more informational than you ever could have expected.





	

Motels were always your least favorite place to hang out, but talk of cases tended to be a little too much to talk about out in the open. That’s why the three of you were cooped up in the too-small motel room, looking over the case at hand.

“Could you repeat the case to me again? I want to make sure I understand what kind of case we got going here,” Dean asked, perched on one of the queen beds as he sipped at his coffee and munched on his donuts. You huffed, repeating yourself for what felt like the thousandth time that day.

You pulled up the article and the partially-completed police report on your tablet, skimming over the facts again. “Rich philanthropist found dead in home. He was found at 11pm dead on the floor by his wife, who came home to see him laid out on the floor with multiple stab wounds to the chest. Funny thing was, none of the locks were tampered with and the door was locked from the inside. All the security cameras show nobody coming or going either.”

He nodded thoughtfully, powdered sugar from the donuts all over his mouth. He didn’t seem to notice nor care about the sugar coating his face, rather lost in his mind as he thought over the case. Sam shifted in his chair as he sat at the small table in the kitchenette, hand propping up his chin as he researched on his laptop. He hummed, apparently finding something interesting.

“Find anything good, Sam?” you asked, hoping he had something new to add.

“Just that the widow seems to have already moved in with family, instead of staying at the house. Or, mansion really, It’s huge.”

Dean chuckled, amused. “If I had a nickel every time I heard that.”

Sam threw him a bitch face as you tried not to smile, hiding it under a cough.

“So, you think that’s suspicious?” you asked. “I’m not sure it is, since I’d hate to stay in a place where my husband was killed.”

He shook his head, sending wisps of hair skittering over his cheekbones. “No, I just think the fact that she was already in the process of it before he was killed is a red flag. Like maybe she knew it was going to happen?”

Sighing, you slouched further into your chair. “Well, looks like a trip to the morgue, boys.”

* * *

You couldn’t deny the authority you felt when you wore your fed suit. You always stood a little taller, always a little more confident and self-assured. You hated wearing the heels though, but you were proud of the fact that you’d trained yourself to fight and run incredibly well in them.

Your heels clicked against the vinyl flooring, leading Dean further into the building as you followed one of the desk jockey cops to the morgue room. Sam stayed behind since three feds was a little overkill, and checked to see if he could hack into the security cameras on the estate.

The cop you followed stopped, waving his arm at the door labeled in big bold letters _‘MORGUE’_ before scurrying back to his desk. You stopped to watch him retreat, but Dean slammed right into your back, nearly sending you toppling over if he hadn’t wrapped his arms around your waist.

You all but stopped breathing, your entire backside plastered against his front, his strong arms holding you tight to his body. You could feel his chest expand as he breathed, a little irregularly as he continued to hold you to him, the feel of his soft but toned torso making you a little light-headed.

It was not exactly a secret that you harbored feelings for the older Winchester. Sam quickly noticed your lingering glances at him, your eagerness for any sort of physical contact with him. The biggest clue was that you were always making sure Dean got his pie whenever you went on a supply run. The first time you came back with three different kinds, not sure which Dean liked best. Of course he thought it was like Christmas and ate a slice of each that night, but Sam shot you a knowing look that you knew meant you were busted.

You managed to keep it under wraps, and for such an observant guy he seemed incredibly clueless to your infatuation.

His arms stayed wrapped around you for longer than strictly necessary, keeping your hands trapped at your sides.

“Ah, Dean? You can let go now.” You were surprised that your voice didn’t waver, his warm embrace setting butterflies free in your stomach. He cleared his throat a few times, letting you go and muttering an apology. You missed his intoxicating presence so close, and you had to focus hard on the task at hand.

You pushed through the double doors, eager to distract yourself from the handsome man behind you. The examiner looked up from his paperwork, standing to greet you.

You flashed your badges, catching him up and asking about the vic. He was amiable, leading you over to the body and letting the two of you get a good look.

“He bled out from several stab wounds to the chest, all clustered to the right near his heart,” the medical examiner _‘Ted’_ said, insisting you call him by his given name as he let you look.

“May I?’ you asked, gesturing to the box of sterile blue gloves by the table. He nodded, a small “be my guest” in reply. You slipped on the gloves as Dean watched Ted almost staring at you as you slowly inspected the body.

“His forearms have some contusions, indicative of self-defense against a blunt object. By the shape and size, I would guess it was a rod or stick of some sort. Maybe a broomstick or something similar.” You looked up at Ted to see if he’d drawn similar conclusions, but he just stood there gaping at you. You turned to look at Dean, wondering what his deal was. He had a little grin on his face, seemingly a little amused at the way Ted stared at you.

“Never knew a fed to be so smart,” Ted said, pulling your attention back to him.

Heat rushed to your face, unused to compliments. You cleared your throat, ignoring the comment and looking through the autopsy report for any additional information. Dean sidled up to you, reading over your shoulder and damned if it wasn’t distracting as hell.

“What’s this about the stab wounds looking funny?” he asked, his low gravelly voice close to your ear. It sent a sharp tingle up your spine at the proximity, and you held on tighter to the paperwork in an effort to keep your hands from shaking.

Ted lit up, apparently more than happy to tell you about the stab wounds inflicted on the poor guy.

He pointed to the gaping holes in the vic’s chest, smiling as he talked about the trajectory of the blade and how it was an unusual pattern for a knife, the supposed weapon.

“I mean, the blade was longer than a pocketknife and shorter than a sword. It angles up, too.”

You prodded gently at the skin, angling your head as you gazed at the smooth angled stab wounds littering his chest. “Do you think maybe it could have been a spear?” you asked, “since that would account for the bruising on his arms and the angle of the stabbing. The end of a spear could easily have done this kind of damage.”

You and Dean looked expectantly at Ted, his glazed-over look worrying you slightly. He snapped out of it quickly, pacing back and forth muttering all the while. You shot Dean a look and he pulled his head back into his neck, giving you his best “fuck if I know?” face.

Suddenly Ted stopped and turned to you, eyes wide. “You’re a genius!” he shouted, waving his hands in the air. “Absolute genius! That solves all the inconsistencies! Genius!”

You were concerned at one point that he was going to hug you, but Dean stepped in even closer helping Ted curb the urge to fling himself at you. The two of you thanked him, heading out to the impala.

As you stepped into the parking lot, Dean spoke up.

“Hey, you did a good job in there.”

His compliment startled you, again unused to people’s praise. He was always surprising you with words of encouragement, always praising your skills and it made you damn near giddy whenever it happened.

“Thanks,” you managed to squeak out, hoping he didn’t notice the way your face heated again. “Let’s go see the widow and see if there’s anything suspicious there.”

* * *

On the way to the mansion, Dean called Sam and caught him up on your findings at the morgue. He’d successfully hacked into the security cameras, and had no good news. Apparently all the cameras showed nobody coming or going, so there was no way this was a normal murder.

“Okay, we’re pulling up to the house. Place is big enough I think the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air is gonna come walking out of the front door.” You tried not to laugh, really. But it came out unbidden, getting Dean to smile back at you and crinkles to show around his eyes.

“Let’s go interview us a widow,” he said, parking the car and climbing out with a wink. You were sure this man was going to be the death of you.

* * *

You sat on what was likely the most expensive couch you’d ever sat on. It was gilded in gold, the cushions adorned with the frilliest flower pattern ever. You sat next to Dean on the tiny couch, across from the widow you were questioning. She seemed understandably shaken, but you had a feeling that there were things that she was hiding by the way she refused to look either you or Dean directly in the eyes.

“Just a few routine questions ma’am,” Dean said, “then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Anything to help. Though I’m not sure why the government is concerned about my husband’s murder. I’m sure it was just some crazy person who didn’t like Richard giving money to the charities he did.”

You glanced at Dean, a silent word between you. He shifted in place, clearing his throat. “Well ma’am, we just want to be sure nothing untoward is going on here. Nothing to worry about.” He smiled at her, surely hoping she didn’t ask too many questions about the fed’s involvement.

She was amiable the entire time, though something about her demeanor still nagged at you.

“Would you mind if I used your restroom?” you inquired, hoping she didn’t think too much of your request.

“Be my guest, agent. Down the hall and it’s the second door on the left.”

You nodded, excusing yourself and disappearing around the corner. Inspecting the rooms you passed along the way, you walked right past the bathroom, heading toward what you hoped was the main bedroom.

“Jackpot,” you whispered as you pushed open the last door in the hall. The bedroom was high-class and definitely looked like it was out of a Martha Stewart magazine. Everything was far too neat for your taste, feeling cold and not very lived-in. You sifted through the nightstands, looking for anything out of the ordinary or suspicious looking. Anything supernatural.

After finding nothing, you peeked under the bed too, hoping maybe they had a box of crazy or something but came up empty. They were far too normal. Finally, you checked their closet, which was more of a room, and looked in all the dark corners for really anything you could find. It was in the lowest shelf, behind an outrageous amount of similar-looking white heels that you found it. The box of crazy.

You pulled it out, rushing so Dean wouldn’t have to cover for too much longer. You opened the dark wooden box to find several bones of what looked to be a cat and a rather sharp-looking double-edged blade. There were a few oddities here and there, but what stood out was the piece of yellow legal pad paper that had a few latin lines scribbled hastily across it. You pulled out your phone and took a picture of the paper before shoving it back in the box and placing it back in its hiding spot.

You rejoined them in what she called her ‘parlor room’ as Dean finished up his line of questioning, waiting to leave. You couldn’t help but notice the gold necklace she wore, her fingers grazing over it at every mention of her husband’s name.

“Was that necklace a gift from your husband?” you asked. She smiled forcefully before nodding yes, sharp and quick. “You must miss him,” you pressed on, alarm bells ringing in your head.

“Yes. Not a day goes by that I won’t notice his absence.”

* * *

The two of you returned to the motel room, and you immediately shed your suit jacket, throwing it across one of the queen beds. Dean pestered you the whole car ride, wanting to know what you saw but you resisted opting to only relay the story once to both the boys.

You kicked off your heels and sat heavily in your chair, pulling one of your feet up and started rubbing the knots from your sole. Dean sat on the end of the bed, and Sam seemed unmoved since you saw him last, still at the kitchenette table.

“Well spill it, sweetheart. What did you see?” Dean pestered. You rolled your eyes, making sure Sam was listening before relaying your findings.

“So she’s got a witch box?” Dean asked.

“Well, it’s not exactly a full-on witch thing,  more of a specific spell sort of thing. I took a picture of the incantation, though. She was dabbling in blood magic. But I think it was a one-time deal. The picture of the incantation that Sam’s translating had a few things that stood out to me. I mean, it read like an invocation.”

“It is” Sam called from behind his laptop. “It seems like she was invoking Freja.”

You straightened, your sore foot forgotten. “Freja? That would explain the necklace.”

Dean looked between the two of you, clearly confused at the jump in conversation. “Hey guys, english?”

Sam gave Dean his patented bitchface, and deadpanned “Freja, the goddess of love, beauty, war and death.”

Dean pulled an ‘oh’ face before looking confused again. “So what, she just calls Freda and asks her to kill her husband for her?”

“Freja. And no, she’s known to be pretty chill. She is extremely protective of women abused by lovers, though. So it all adds up,” you added.

“Okay, so how do we gank this bitch?”

Oh, Dean. Ever the direct one.

Sam stopped typing on the laptop, turning it to face the two of you. “The spell will work for us. We just invoke her over one of the things she helps people with, then see about getting her to stop.”

Dean huffed, muttering something under his breath about not getting to kill anything fun these days before rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay, so what do we need for this spell?”

Sam clasped his hands together, rubbing them and grinning. “Well, we have all the ingredients already, we just need a summoner. Someone who Freja will help.” He turned his smile on you as your stomach dropped to your feet.

“No. No way, Sam. I’m not doing it,” you said, shaking your head vigorously at the thought. You knew what he was playing at and you didn’t like it. Not one bit. You stood and paced across the room, nervousness already consuming you at the mere thought of it.

Dean looked on, confused by the whole situation, wondering what had your hackles up. “Sammy, what the hell is she talking about?”

You continued your nervous pacing, passing Dean on the bed every lap you made.   
You knew plenty about norse mythology since you found it all incredibly fascinating ever since you’d read a Thor comic when you were younger. You knew what Freja was all about, and you knew just what you’d have to do to get her attention.

“Freja is known to be a protector of women. She would be more likely to help her than us.” Sam explained, gesturing toward you.

“So what’s the issue?”

You stopped pacing, standing near Dean as you rubbed at your face. “I have to come to her with an honest heart, asking for help in one of her domains.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“I would have to ask her for help in love, Dean.”

Dean looked at you knowingly, un-creasing his brow as his face went soft. He knew how you felt about love. That you wanted it, but knew how difficult the hunting life made it. He even knew how you felt you didn’t quite deserve it- that you’d seen too much and done too much to feel worthy of it.

But he knew better. He knew you deserved all you wanted and more. That you’d helped save countless people, and he himself. He never told you how you kept him going, even on the darker days where all he wanted to do was drown himself in whiskey and women. It was because of you caring so much about him, that he’d cut back on the drinks and even Sam was wondering about the lack of women wandering in and out of his life. He’d bluster and say he was just having a dry spell, even though deep down he knew more often than not he was turning them away.

At what point he’d decided he didn’t want just anyone for the night, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that you’d bewitched him body and soul, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

That didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it though. Oh no, he wouldn’t let his selfish desires cause him to ruin your life. He knew he was poison, that anyone near him ended up injured or worse. But as you talked about seeking Freja’s help in love, he couldn’t help but feel his heart twist at the notion.

He grabbed your hand, your heart shuddering at the sweet calming gesture. He ran his thumb over the soft expanse of the back of your hand, silvery scars here and there. His touch made you forget yourself, Sam’s voice eventually calling your attention back to the conversation.  
“All you have to do is the spell, then an incantation to invoke Freja.”

Dean’s eyes trailed over you, not leaving your face as he addressed Sam. “So does she just show up immediately or what?”

Sam sighed heavily, “I don’t know. It could happen immediately or take awhile, there’s no way of knowing for sure.”

You steeled yourself, squeezing Dean’s hand reassuringly. Whether for your comfort or his own, you weren’t sure. You figured it was time to put your big girl panties on. “It’s alright. Nothing to it but to do it.”

* * *

You could feel Dean’s gaze on you as you put together the ingredients for the spell. Sam worked on writing down the incantation on a piece of paper, as Dean helped you gather ingredients wordlessly. His gaze felt like a physical touch, prickling your skin as you worked on the spell.

“That’s everything,” you announced, double and triple checking out of habit. Sam stood from his spot at the table, handing you the spell. You glanced over it, a little tickled with the fact that it was written on the motel’s notepad, the ‘Bluebird Motel’ logo in garish blue across the top of the page. A warm hand covered your own, obscuring Sam’s writing and drawing your eyes up toward Dean’s.

“You don’t have to do this, we can do it- me or Sammy,” he offered. You smiled lightly, touched by his concern. You put your other hand over his, squeezing what you could of his impossibly large hand. “I’m okay, Dean. I got this.”

A curt nod and he let go, instantly missing the brief yet wonderful contact.

You stood in front of the bowl of assorted items, slicing your hand and letting the blood drip down your palm and into the container. A few magic words and you lit the paper and let it fall into the bowl as well, completing the spell as you focused your mind on Freja and the gaping hole in your chest that ached to be filled.

Your focus consumed, you didn’t notice Dean’s sharp intake of breath as you cut your hand, nor the way he averted his eyes as the blood drip-dropped in splatters. He did clutch his gun harder than strictly necessary, knuckles white from his grip. As you finished up the spell, he smelled what he could have sworn was warm apple cider permeating the room.

You turned around, ready to wait for the goddess to show up, but instead were faced with pure beauty. She stood tall in the motel room, commanding attention and power in her stance. Her flawless skin glistened in the harsh light of the room, glowing in golden tones in her deep red dress. Across her shoulders lay a cloak covered in falcon feathers, a detail you remembered from your reading. It clasped to her shoulders by gold brooches, the style reflected by her necklace brísingamen that sat high around her neck.

You quickly realized why the widow’s necklace looked familiar- it was an exact replica of Freja’s brísingamen.

The boys had their guns trained on her, their bodies humming with tension. She stood there, barely phased by the boys’ aggressive stances, looking solely at you. A soft smile covered her face, her beauty almost overwhelming. She was the goddess of beauty, after all.

“Hello there,” she said, slowly walking toward you. The boys tensed even more, unsure of what she was going to do. “I’m not going to hurt her,” she started, “or either of you.”

Dean smirked, dipping his head side to side as if considering something. “Well, can’t be too careful, can I?”

She gazed at him, long and considering before turning back to you. “You want to know about the dead man.”

You nodded, her presence leaving you a little speechless.

“He was a vile little man. His wife came to me for advice about love. She wanted to win him back, though I could see clearly that he was abusing her. She could not hide the truth of her heart from me. He beat her, and I put an end to it.”

Dean scoffed, unbelieving of the situation. “She was being abused, so you figured the best way to help was to kill the guy?” Sam softly reprimanded him from across the room.

She turned to him, nose flaring and eyes slitted. “He does _not_ get to play with a woman in such a manner. He received the punishment he deserved.”

“It is done, and she is free.”

Finally finding your voice, you managed to speak up. “So you’re not going to kill anyone else here?”

She smiled wide, her attention pulled back to you. “Of course not, though I am here for another matter entirely now.”

“And what’s that?” Sam asked, lowering his gun. Dean did the same, but still stood rigid and vigilant.

“For her.”

“Me?” you asked, unsure what she meant.

“Exactly. You called on me for guidance in love did you not? I wish to help you find it. Though I dare say, you need not look far.” She waved her hand a little, grace pouring off of her every move.

“Ah, yeah. I think I’m good. Uh, you’re free to leave if you want now.” you mentioned, hoping that she would drop the uncomfortable topic for you. You should have known that wouldn’t be the case.

She cocked her head to the side, looking you over briefly before turning to Dean, his eyes never leaving her. “You should tell her,” she said. He looked startled at her advice, his eyes flicking between you and her.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his face looking suddenly guarded.

“You know what I speak of.” She turned to you, stepped forward and cupped your face. Her hands were soft against your skin, the faint smell of cocoa butter filling your senses. “You need no help with beauty, for yours shines like a beacon already. You wish to feel love, to love and be loved in return. This love is already known to you but hidden; the love you seek is in front of your very eyes, you need but to see it.” She stepped to the side, gesturing with a wide sweep of her arm at Dean. “I have seldom seen a more profound bond nor love of this nature.”

Dean’s eyes fixed on Freja, refusing to meet your own. You seldom saw him look so shy and out of place as you did at this moment.

Was she saying what you thought she was? That Dean /loved/ you? Dean was not a man of words, you knew that. He avoided talking about feelings if he could, though these days he’d been better about it. But Dean didn’t love. And he sure as hell didn’t say it out loud if he did. You knew he showed his affection by protecting those he cared about, Sam the ultimate example of that. But you’d never heard him tell his brother that he loved him, let alone you.

Embarrassed at the attention paid to you, you scoffed, telling Freja you called bull on the whole thing.

She seemed stunned at your denial, her head reeling back before her face turned soft at you. “I do not take the topic of love lightly, my dear. He truly does love you.”

You looked at Dean, the situation wholly overwhelming you. Freja was right, you did want to be loved, and you wanted it to be Dean. The fear of rejection pulled strong at your chest, though. Fear that you weren’t enough and that your deepest desire would be ripped apart, as it seemed to be happening right before your eyes.

Dean remained quiet, rubbing at his neck and shifting his weight from foot to foot, your heart shattering piece by piece as he remained quiet. Eventually it all became too much.

You pushed your way out of the small motel room, feeling as though you were trapped in a shoebox. You hardly registered the voices calling your name as you pushed yourself further away from the room, desperate for as much space between the object of your deep affections and yourself as you could get. You’d cleared the parking lot, gulping in the cool night air as you tried desperately to calm down. The temperature proved to be a mild distraction, the gooseflesh rising on your arms as your body reacted to the cold. Eventually your legs gave out, sending you crashing to the jagged gravel below. Warm hands at your back, brought your mind back to the present as you jerked away from the touch, twisting to see who was touching you.

_Dean._

He looked flustered, pink in his cheeks as he pulled off his own jacket to drape over your crouched form. He smoothed it over you, finally looking at your face, desperation coloring his features as he crouches in front of you.

“You know, I was hoping that if it ever came to this, it’d be different,” he started.

You couldn’t bear to hear him finally tell you he wasn’t interested. You were sure he wasn’t.

“Dean- please don’t,” you begged. “You don’t have to say anything. Just leave it and we can go back to normal. Please.”

A pained look crossed his face- almost as if you’d physically slapped him.

“I can’t,” he said cautiously “I have to tell you. You have to know.”

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you waited for him to let your heart shatter to pieces.

“Dean, please-” you pleaded in a last ditch effort to put off the pain of it all.

He grabbed you roughly by the shoulders, shaking you slightly. He ducked to make sure you were looking him full in the eyes before snapping slightly. “Dammit, just listen! I really love you!”

Your eyes widened, his outburst far from what you’d expected him to say. His voice softened, noticing the shock obvious on your face.

“I’m all in. I’m laying down all my cards here and saying it. I know I don’t deserve you, not even a little, but I love you. I know you feel like you don’t deserve it, but you do. I’ll be damned if I sat by and watched you tear yourself down and accept any less than what you want. If you let me, I’d give you everything I’ve got. You and me. What do you say?”

Tears streamed freely down your face, overwhelmed by the love you felt pouring out of the man before you. Freja was right, and your eyes were open now. You could see every bit of love he held for you and it truly stole your breath.

You answered the only way you knew how, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his. He responded in kind, soft and sweet against you as his hands slid up into your hair to tangle in the tresses, holding your head in his hands with such care.

You pulled away, looking deep into his emerald eyes, smiling up at him.

“I take it that’s a yes?” he asked playfully, a smirk playing over his lips.

“No, Winchester. That’s a hell yes.”


End file.
